


My Blood

by arcadevia



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Camping, Friends With Benefits, Frottage, Humor, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining Lance (Voltron), Sensuality, Smut, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-02-23 05:15:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23939605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arcadevia/pseuds/arcadevia
Summary: “Mmm,” Lance hums. “I don’t wanna copy you, though.”Keith chuckles. “You can get different designs.” He adjusts the blanket to tug up near their chests, and his arms immediately snake tighter around Lance’s middle while one hand dips low to thumb at his hip. “Or get tattoos in different places…”Or: Lance likes Keith’s tattoos, and he also just likes Keith.
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Comments: 17
Kudos: 205
Collections: Just some pretty nice fics





	1. Chapter 1

“I like this,” Lance says as his palm roams over the skin of Keith’s arm that’s hooked around his middle. It’s tainted with swirling black ink, rich around the wrist but more faded near his elbow. It contrasts beautifully with his skin, glowing hues of blushing reds and oranges from where they sit a little ways away from the campfire. Lance forgot a chair because _of_ _course_ he’d overpack everything else, from three toothpaste tubes to five flashlights (of varying settings) for only a three, _maybe_ four night trip, yet totally disregard the most obvious thing to bring.

So here he sits on Keith’s lap, who apparently doesn’t mind because _“I can’t feel my legs since our hike anyway”_ , while he blissfully ignores the suggestive and suspicious glances their friends send their way. He can get comfy with whoever he wants, alright? Isn’t that what friends do? They get close and touchy and think about how hot—

“Yeah?” Keith murmurs right into his ear, his breath just as warm as the heat of the fire, and Lance just feels like marshmallow drooping off a stick.

He sighs and bares his neck just slightly to invite that constant prod into personal space. Their back-and-forth used to be absolutely _infuriating_ to deal with, but soon enough, those jabs and bites and shoves turned to pleasant roaming and… nips and… hushed whispers… and more things their friends don’t exactly know about but can probably pick up on enough hints anyway.

“ _Yeah_ ,” he breathes out. His eyes glaze over, held at the mercy of licking flames that he can feel in his core and it brings a smirk to his face. It shouldn’t, but it does, and he doesn’t need to twist back to know Keith’s mouth is probably turned in the same wicked manner. “Maybe I could get something like this,” he smoothes across the other’s arm again and says it so, so low like a prayer, but it’s only for the sake of who’s behind him.

“Then you should,” Keith says. The weight of his chin and that quiet, evocative tone fits the bill for a devil on his shoulder. Since when did Lance care, though? Not recently, not for the past few months. Keith’s got the spirit of a fuckin’ _siren_ if his effect is anything to go by, but Lance is sure he’s got the boy wrapped around his finger just as much. Just a little tug on the belt loops of Keith’s jeans that fit way too snugly, next thing you know they’ll be a while in the bathroom.

“Really?” Lance asks because he was only, like, _half_ joking with that.

“Yeah, it’d look good.” Keith is sure of himself, like always.

Lance decides to entertain the idea because it doesn’t seem quite bad, honestly. There’s somewhat of a taboo on tattoos in his family, but then again, Rachel had risked it ages ago and their mother had decided that fine, maybe _some_ designs are beautiful enough for permanency.

The designs on Keith’s arm are beautiful, all the way up to where they crawl off his shoulder and down his pec. Not that he sees that part _now_ , with Keith only clad in sweatpants ( _dear god_ ) and a plain t-shirt. This blanket better conceal the hard-on he’ll probably be getting soon. And he knows if he shifts over _just_ slightly, Keith will have the same thing coming. (No pun intended… Well…)

“Mmm,” Lance hums. “I don’t wanna copy you, though.”

Keith chuckles. “You can get different designs.” He adjusts the blanket to tug up near their chests, and his arms immediately snake tighter around Lance’s middle while one hand dips low to thumb at his hip. “Or get tattoos in different places…”

Right. He turns his head a tad, murmuring his suspicion of— “I’m guessing you’re dropping a hint?” He moves into Keith’s ministrations because the jut of his hips are pretty much two major hotspots for the other’s attention, despite Keith complaining about how easily they dig into his skin, they must drive him wild.

When he rocks back, the impact has Keith sucking in air by sharp surprise and clinging tighter to Lance. Everyone else pays no mind to them, and Lance doesn’t bother trying to catch on to the conversation or peer up at whatever fascinating star. What matters is that he’s got Keith _here_ hovering all around him and not elsewhere.

“And what if I am?” Keith makes a well placed nip at the shell of Lance’s ear, just shy of getting caught had he done it any later. It makes the skin there tingle and he has to bite his lip to keep from a sly grin stretching across his face.

Lance rocks back again just to hear another hiss and now he _knows_ what part he’s sitting on. _“Lance.”_

“I’ll consider it.”

Keith is breathing heavily now, and thankfully everyone else is too busy hustling over to the edge of the campsite now, just a fair distance away for Lance to care. They’re looking at a bird, or a rock, or god knows what he doesn’t really care.

“You’re crazy,” Keith says in his leveled voice now, but it’s gravelly from having to rise through Lance’s constant shifting. His bangs tickle the nape of his neck and Lance is sure he’s gonna be getting marks from Keith’s hands on his hips before ever getting tattoos there.

Lance chuckles to himself and he throws an arm back to hook over the other shoulder he’s not leaning on. _“You make me crazy,”_ He says back in all honesty, but Keith only sees the suggestiveness because that’s what they are now. He only sees Lance’s (occasionally impromptu) invitations for sweet release and the heated moments in between. But Lance is very much aware that he doesn’t see the rest in those words. He doesn’t see Lance is forever grateful that kissing is a apparently a given to Keith during sex, so Lance’s longing for that from _him_ in particular is unquestionable. He doesn’t see how Lance feels a genuine burst of excitement when the group meets up again because _Keith_ is there, and getting a good fuck doesn’t matter if they at least interact face to face because Lance is _desperate_.

He’s desperate and sometimes he wants just the kisses, just the suffocating embrace, just the attention _alone_ because truthfully, it’s become just as much of a finish line for his sad little heart as it has for his dick. So there.

But Keith doesn’t see that, at least not yet. He plans to tell him one day or another when things are comfortable and the idea of _“We can at least stay friends”_ would be enough to pick up the shambles of a broken heart to. One day, when he’s alright with risking one last kiss for the sake of being honest.

Keith’s mouth latches onto the meat of his shoulder, right next to the edge of his tank top, with a final groan. Lance forgot there was a goal in sight for this, let alone the fact that he was still moving. It was _supposed_ to be a cheeky payback for Keith squirming around in his lap last week while they played RDR2, before Keith just up and _left_ because apparently he just couldn’t be late to some work thing or whatever.

He takes it though, because what else is there to do? The attention is still on him, and he’s got the following wave of Keith’s softness after his climax, another thing they’re terribly compatible with just— _God._ If the crew _was_ looking up at some stupid star, then he’s gonna apologize to it because _please just let this work out_.

Keith smatters wet kisses, one by one, up Lance’s shoulder and the length of his bared neck while Lance cards his fingers through the ends of his hair. He feels empty and full, likely because this whole thing feels misplaced, and the only thing he can do is breath and stare into the fire and take Keith’s hand before it travels any lower because _“I’m okay”_. Everyone else will be back soon, and his head isn’t in it like this, at least for now, anyway.

“You sure?” Keith checks with more guilt than doubt. But it’s not his fault, honestly. It’s not his fault Lance kinda-sorta caught feelings and isn’t ready to make that last jump into what they _could be_ if he was just brave enough. Keith has fit the bill for all kinds of ” _this is reciprocated”_ signs, so it’s _not_ him. It’s Lance.

Lance nods and adds “Yeah, I’m just hungry I think,” since he hadn’t gotten up for dinner either.

“Okay,” Keith says and leans over til Lance’s hand falls back into his lap and he can actually look into Lance’s eyes. He probably looks lost, because Keith speaks directly, the same way he typically does when Lance has been bedridden for days, at mercy to the melancholic parts of his mind. He stayed for that, could he stay for Lance’s feelings too? “I gotta change, but get some dinner while I’m at it, alright?”

“Alright.” Lance stands up with the blanket with Keith in tow.

Then after a moment: “Yeah, don’t think I got anything on you.” 

“You better not, I like these,” Lance says with as much attitude as he can for a ratty pair of basketball shorts that he could actually give less off a shit about.

Keith rolls his eyes and sweeps back his hair. “Yeah, _okay_.”

Lance curls his lip and crinkles his nose, shaking his head to silently mock Keith while he slugs over to the nearby picnic table. Keith returns the same face. They both flip the bird at the same time, and then it’s done.

And Lance finally sends his dumb wish to a sky full of stars because he doesn’t know which one could grant it, so he just has to make sure.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Lance, I didn’t, like…” He starts at an even lower volume, and Lance has to shift closer to hear him. “I didn’t make you uncomfortable when we did that, right?”
> 
>  _That_ , as in their little impromptu grinding session that ended with Lance’s longing thoughts blaring in his mind just as annoyingly loud as the crickets outside. He only had a few bites of the steak they had for dinner after that. Yeah, _steak_ , like he was so lost in confliction that his uneasiness curbed his appetite for a dinner he rarely gets but absolutely loves. And when Hunk cooks it? God, it’s just right. But his stupid peanut brain said _nice try_ to his stomach and next thing he knows, the only thing to eat for dinner is self pity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Made this into 3 chapters because this got feedback pretty quick

The sun glares mercilessly into Lance’s poor, unshielded, 7 a.m. eyes once he’s reached the top of the steps that lead to the main cabin platform. _Geez,_ woulda checked out the view if his sight wasn’t immediately assaulted…

He sighs loudly, half from genuine exhaustion and the other half for show for Keith, who’s hunched over the outside sink to spit out the last of his toothpaste before packing up his toothbrush in a Ziploc bag. His hair is tied up quite nicely and the rest of his attire is pretty decent for Lance’s equivalent to _early as fuck_ because he’s so used to sleeping in.

“You look like a hedgehog,” Keith says, unfiltered because you don’t get any refined sugar coating from him, it’s only raw truth that’s mostly a hit or miss. Lance takes it though _—hedgehogs are cute, right?—_ while his hair gets ruffled by Keith’s prying hand.

“Thanks,” he replies simply through squinted eyes, like his sight has been set to border screen mode for this flimsy, half-failing romance movie. Half because, well, at least they’re fucking. “ _Dammit_ , I forgot my stuff…” he adds as an afterthought.

_Too busy looking for you._

Keith sweeps his fingers through all the stubborn, sleep-deprived-from-another-pining-crisis strands of hair that spike in all different directions on Lance’s head. For better or for worse, he’s not sure since Keith huffs an amused laugh. “Go back and get them.” His hand flops back down at his side. “I’m heading down in a sec anyway.”

Lance hangs back the weight of his head to let a groan rip from the depths of his throat because that was like _twenty_ steps, since the main cabin is elevated above the rest of the campsite. “ _Aughhhhh_ , I hate my life.” He rubs his eyes and gives a sniff before turning on his heels, away from Keith’s too-endearing stare and those too-normal touches.

“Tough up.” Keith pats Lance’s ass then makes his way elsewhere, probably to use the bathroom inside.

“Hate you.”

“Hate you too.”

They don’t (duh), and no matter how much Lance would like to believe that actual hate would be easier than this, it definitely wouldn’t be. Seriously he just needs to, like, grow a pair and stop obsessing over the possibility that Keith is only tactile and friendly like this because Lance _initiated_ it ever since he got a hand down the other’s pants, (with consent, thank you very much), at a birthday party for some girl he can’t remember the name of off the top of his head.

Yeah, no obsessing.

“Where’s your boyfriend?” Pidge asks once he’s slugged back down the steps and over to their cabin.

“My- who? _Keith?_ ” Because he’s still paranoid that this isn’t just teasing and his friends are actually onto them. Really, no one is having that _swell_ of a time sitting on a camping chair, willingly away from an adorable bunny hopping around at the edge of the campsite, (it wasn’t a dead bird _or_ a rock apparently).

But Pidge’s eyes hit half mast with a look that hopefully says _“No, I didn’t see you getting nasty with Keith near the campfire in plain fucking sight last night”_ and instead says: “No, your boyfriend Michael Jordan.”

Well if it was Michael _B._ Jordan, he wouldn’t really mind… Nonetheless, he takes the hint and peers back to where he’d once been a couple minutes ago. With a more hopeful start before realizing that twenty step trip was for nothing except confirming the fact that Keith is a naturally higher priority than his morning routine, according to his brain.

“Alright, I get it, I think he’s uhhh…” He really can’t fucking see when his contacts aren’t in so this is a losing game to begin with. There’s a head of dark choppy hair in the distance though, so it’s his best bet for now. “Right there..?” His hand lifts weakly to point in that general direction.

Scraping footsteps come to a stop to his left and the person sighs. “Right _here_ ,” Keith says and moves Lance’s hand a good ninety degrees to the space where he stands right next to him. “That was a woman, Lance.”

Well nevermind then. “No I knew that,” Lance waves off with a flick of his wrist. “That was a trick, I knew it’d summon you and it totally worked.” He taps his temple in a “ _use your mind”_ motion while his lips curl.

Keith doesn’t seem to mind, even though there’s an air of exasperation in the way he takes Lance’s wrist to turn his finger in the direction of their cabin and say “Go get your stuff—” before rotating his body with a nudge and directing it to the main cabin to add “— and clean up, Einstein.”

“Looks like _someone_ can’t keep their hands off me,” Lance says to counter the stirring in his gut from where Keith’s fingertips touch his skin and the weight of the other’s sweatshirt presses against his back. He looks over his shoulder, to where Keith has gravitated into his little bubble enough for his breath to tickle Lance’s cheek.

Pidge trudges off with a blatant _“I’m out”_ to leave them in their little patch of mixed feelings, whether she is or isn’t aware of that part, Lance isn’t sure, but it feels quite obvious to him and he tries making a mental note of staying on the downlow. Uh, as low as you can get with this kind of arrangement.

Was it an arrangement? Because so far there hasn’t been any “ground rules” set for… this. It’s just moments of either making eye contact and finding some glimmer of _“We should fuck”_ in there, or gradually winding up the mood with implying touches throughout the night, when it’s all they can do in front of their friends until they finally get a resolve at whoever’s place is the closest.

He can’t recall a particular, single moment in which this became a discussion. Because discussing it meant acknowledging it, and Lance has a feeling Keith is just as afraid that the commitment will somehow fracture the pleasantries of it all. From the way he skips past what could’ve been a _“You should stay”_ straight on to _“I can make breakfast”_ because _I_ is easier than _you_ when it comes to wanting something from another person. _I’m not busy tonight_ ; _I live around the corner_ ; _I don’t mind company;_ and _I really really really l—_

  
  


The endless lines of trees blur into one scrambled streak outside the car window when they’re driving back down the mountain. It’s hypnotizing, like a dizzying painting of vibrant green and shimmering gold and murky brown that probably should clash terribly but nature pulls off any kind of look so it doesn’t quite matter.

He and Keith lay in the back where the seats have been folded into the van floor to make room for their bags lining the sides, giving just enough space in between to kick back and watch the campsite gradually shrink away through the back window. The way the outskirts of his peripheral vision blur with what their van rushes by leaves him almost hypnotized. It’s not unlike the illusion of spiraling through all kinds of galaxies —at least according to what sci-fi movie graphics display— but any stars and planets are replaced with patches of sunlight that peek through crevices between leaves and rock.

He likes it, wants to bask in a moment that feels endless but will surely be gone in no time.

His friends’ voices can be heard just within range, among the muffled layer that the altitude brings to his blocked ears, along with the low tune of what’s probably a Pink Floyd song going by how the band takes up almost the entirety of Pidge’s playlist.

Keith yawns next from his place beside him, and the movement lifts Lance’s arm that’s caged his chest before relaxing. “You have fun?” He says in a low voice after turning slightly to look at Lance.

Lance nods, his pillow rubbing against his cheek with the motion because the back window got too dizzying so the next best thing was letting himself be consumed whole by the little pocket they’ve made back here. His glasses are crooked and propped weirdly on his nose, but he can’t be bothered to fix them, even if it just means lifting his arm.

“You sure?” Keith checks. He puts his phone aside and brings a hand up to Lance’s forearm, wrapped in the fabric of another one of his sweatshirts because yeah, Lance overpacked his own clothes too, but he’s entitled enough to snatch Keith’s anyway.

He nods again and looks at Keith reverently with lidded eyes and a relaxed face. But Keith must think he’s pouting, perhaps he is and just isn’t aware, because he seems skeptical.

“ _Yes_ , I had fun.” Lance rolls his eyes just to make a point, but he’s being truly honest right now. From seeing Shiro eat shit from a clumsy fall on their hike, to getting high and eating way too many marshmallows on their last night (roasted or not), the trip was worth it and it’ll be something to remember.

Keith smiles, but it’s only for a brief moment before worry starts to tug it into a face of concern. “Lance, I didn’t, like…” He starts at an even lower volume, and Lance has to shift closer to hear him. “I didn’t make you uncomfortable when we did that, right?”

_That_ , as in their little impromptu grinding session that ended with Lance’s longing thoughts blaring in his mind just as annoyingly loud as the crickets outside. He only had a few bites of the steak they had for dinner after that. Yeah, _steak_ , like he was so lost in conflict that his uneasiness curbed his appetite for a dinner he rarely gets but absolutely _loves_. And when Hunk cooks it? God, it’s just right. But his stupid peanut brain said _nice try_ to his stomach and next thing he knows, the only thing to eat for dinner is self pity.

And of course he and Keith had to play the casual, _we’re not fooling around_ type card when the others returned to the fire and went on about _“Oh the bunny was so_ cute _and you guys missed it!”_. Yeah, Lance also missed his sanity moments before but shit happens.

“Hm? No ‘f course not, why?” he asks, even though it was made blatantly obvious at the time that something was just _off_. Funnily enough, Keith wasn’t the one making him uncomfortable, it was his own damn self. They’ve run through these hookups several times with ease; it’s almost ironic how the comparably vanilla incident is the one to throw him off. Maybe it was the fact that out in the open, even huddled in their own little space, his train of thought can move faster than any kind of excitement that would otherwise be building in his core.

“You just seemed off,” Keith says, voicing Lance’s exact suspicions. He clutches Lance’s arm a little tighter, and when Lance glances down he sees the beginnings of Keith’s ink from just outside his long sleeve. _“You can get different designs,”_ Lance recalls his rumbling voice, _“Or get tattoos in different places…”_.

Whether Keith means it or not, his voice is so utterly coercing it’s almost dangerous. Of course, if he told Lance to bite off his own thumb then Lance wouldn’t actually do it, but holy hell his delivery for any kind of command is attractive as _fuck_. Lance isn’t even gonna defend himself on that one, it’s honestly no wonder he had a little too much fun with those handcuffs from Keith’s cop costume at that one halloween party. Catch him self incriminating just cause Keith sounds sexy reading off his Miranda Rights… The handcuffs ended up snapping at the chain in the last minute or so of them getting off, _buuut_ he’d like to say it was worth it, and it somehow became an inside joke between them anyway.

“I was just tired,” Lance lies.

But Keith catches on and quirks his brow. “You said you were hungry.”

“What, you want a redo? I’ll give you a redo, Kogane.” He smooths his hand firmly over Keith’s chest that rises a little faster now. He smirks.

“I don’t care about any redos,” Keith says pointedly, but then adds as an afterthought “Alright, I wouldn’t _mind_ one...” after Lance levels him with a skeptical look. But Keith turns serious now and stares at him with renewed persistence, it shows in the stiffness of his jaw and his grasp on Lance’s arm. “But I don’t want this to be…” he hesitates, his lips tumbling wordlessly while he seems to try and find the right thing to say. “Bad,” he finishes a little lamely, Lance knows it’s the best he’s got right now though.

“Bad? I like bad boys, though,” he counters jokingly… Okay, _half_ jokingly. But it’s more _I like you_ than anything else, but that’s for later. Instead, he brings his hand up to card through the ends of Keith’s hair, spilling onto the other pillow from the behind and hooking over his neck at the front. The skin there is heated, and it jumps under Lance’s first fleeting touch. Lance knows if he moved his hand down and tugged on Keith’s collar just so, he’d see the same kind of organized ink cluster as the ones wrapped around the other’s wrist. The patch of skin there has gotta be one of his favorite places to bite down on, the same way Keith had done so on his shoulder the other night, because he’s gotta show his appreciation for the artwork somehow, right? _Duh_ , Lance can’t just be lame and say some mediocre line like _“This looks sexy on you”_ even though he’s said it a million times, among other things that have toed the line of _this_ and _that_ in their maybe-romantic-maybe-not affair. He’s gotta show that true _dedication_ , ya know? The kind that screams _“I want you to think of me when you see this”_ even though these tattoos hardly belong to Lance and rather Keith’s own creative expression. Even though this should be less about thinking of each other and more about their own pleasure. No strings attached, right? Right, except Lance’s feelings are like a tangled ball of yarn. 

But Keith blows the one sided plan to shreds. Keith says “Well I want you to feel good” like it wouldn’t make the ground of Lance’s internal world quake the same way the van floor does right now. Keith glances up for a moment, lifting his head off the pillow before coming back down and moving his hand from Lance’s arm to his hip, rubbing the bone there over the fabric of his sweatpants. They have to double check their surroundings to do things like that around the others.

“You don’t have to worry about that,” Lance says because it’s almost laughable how the one thing Keith is unsure about is something he’s continuously nailed on the head, something he’s never even faltered at before. “Seriously,” he adds when Keith looks skeptical again.

“Fine,” Keith replies defeatedly with a sigh. “Should I make it up to you?”

Lance might die. “Well, I guess, if you insist…”

“Right. Some other time, obviously.” He jerks his head up in the direction where Hunk and Pidge seated in the row in front of them, hopefully oblivious to their quiet conversation underneath the blanket of music.

“Obviously, cause I’m gonna fall asleep again.” Lance stretches his arm, crowding over Keith even more until his pillow is replaced with the other’s once he scoots over. There’s something about the smell that drives him crazy too, like, call him a serial killer or whatever, but damn anyone would understand. Or maybe it’s simply because he’s so gone for this guy.

Keith chuckles and it shakes the two of them for a moment. “Yeah” —he curves his hand over Lance’s back— “that’s the only reason.”

“Mhm,” Lance hums with a little humor and he shuts his eyes. He’ll take this one, only since he’s tired, that’s definitely why.

The steady strum of guitar chords carry him from his daydreams to the unconscious world. It’s peaceful, from the sweats he can cozily wear to the scent from Keith's collar to the tolerable rumbling of the van floor. And just because it’s easy, he pretends to be blissfully asleep when Hunk announces to the others: _“I think the lovebirds passed out again.”_


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What if he blinks and this twisted concept of heaven his mind has come to adore just vanishes? He _wants_ the devil on his shoulder, and all over his body and fogging up his mind and heart because the taste is so achingly _sweet_ he can’t be bothered that this is no angel. The image of Keith will disintegrate into little flakey bits of imagination if he doesn’t engulf himself in the moment now. Lance won’t have the chance to commit this to memory if he blinks, so he lays with rapt attention for the sake of remembering, and it’s as effective as desperately pasting paper on paper with a dried out glue stick, because there’s too many details that will surely fly away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is mostly smut, so just be aware.
> 
> I personally wouldn’t consider this a very explicit work as I tend to focus on the more intimate aspects of concepts like this, so bear with me and hopefully y’all can enjoy the ride with all the humor I packed in here lol

Lance swears to god that although this isn’t for Keith, the man better fucking like this.

Because for the past couple months or so, he’d been tip-toeing around the idea of actually getting some ink, maybe some swirling lines, or jagged edges, or a burst of color here and there. He’s indecisive to say the least.

But eventually, after scouring Google for references ranging from absolutely horrendous to absolutely _tempting,_ as well as websites for local tattoo parlors, and then a call with Rachel that may or may not have somehow revealed Keith is his fuck buddy (don’t ask), he _finally_ dropped a deposit with at least a vague concept of what the hell he wants on his body. On his _hip,_ or at least around it.

It’s for himself, he can start with that. It’s for himself because he genuinely likes the design, thinks it’ll look great to have a splash of art decorating a generous patch of his torso and weaving down the steep slope of his V-line. No doubt it’ll boost some confidence when he takes off to the beach, and he _would_ say it could attract some hot babes around there, but then again he can’t seem to muster up that game anymore since his heart’s been thrown out to _Ke—_

Anyway, it’ll probably throw him off guard in the mirror a few times, but _damn_ he wants it to look good. For himself. For himself _of course._ For him to trace the pads of his fingers over, to soak up the sight of his bronze skin sporting intricate strokes of dark ink varying in thickness and solidity, until it’s joined together in a whole, complete web of an enticing design. For him to look at with a glazed gaze, and feel a hot puff of air layer thin wetness over the skin, until it’s caught between a pair of calculating lips and pointed teeth that dip down and bite, clenching the connected jaw hidden underneath a sweep of dark hair, and pull the skin taught until it’s claimed by the mouth of another.

”Hhh,” he breathes into the cold air of his bedroom. There’s a fan whirring nearby, on his table next to a quaint black bookshelf, that wafts an ongoing breeze over his bed with contrasting gentleness to Keith’s bruising touch. For him, yes, but there’s another _him_ in the situation too and he’s nothing but an idiot for pretending otherwise. “ _Fuck,_ Keith, come _on_.”

He can’t quite see the other’s face when it’s bowed so low, occupied to cater to yet _another_ impromptu flare of want. At least for Keith it would be sudden, whereas Lance has been swept in a pining beat this entire time like being caught in some harmless, netted booby trap he’d see in Scooby Doo or something. As harmless as it gets when his heart is on the line here _—Ruh-roh, indeed—_ but at least Keith seems to _really_ like the tattoo.

“Looks good,” Keith breathes out at a volume raised just enough to be heard over the fan as well as his laptop still playing Netflix. Lance never had much faith in “Netflix and chill” until Keith came along… Is that supposed to be romantic? “Really good,” he repeats, then digs in his thumb into the blooming tenderness his mouth left to accentuate the point.

Lance hisses and his hips keen at the same time, a conflicting battle between chasing the high from pain or cowering away. He rocks back and throws an arm above his head while his spare hand grips the sheets. “What are you, a parrot?” he tries for a jab, but it comes out completely spent instead and Keith just chuckles. He carries on. “You’ve said that for the past ten minutes, are you gonna touch my dick now or what?”

Yeah, because his shirt and jeans were stripped off and tossed god knows where moments ago, and now his dick is having the time of its life impersonating Mount Everest from underneath his boxers. Well, should he give himself that much credit? How about Manaslu… Or maybe—

 _Okay_ it doesn’t matter, Keith likes it on the days he takes it, so that’s enough to go by. And hopefully now he’ll at least like it enough to fucking _touch_ iiitt ohoho _ooo_ -

“Mmmm _finally_ ,” he moans from the drag of Keith’s hand, pushing the heel of it over the tent of fabric before tugging off his boxers. This is _freedom_ , baby.

Keith leans back for a moment, fingers working at his own set of jeans until the zipper’s been yanked low enough to shimmy both waistbands down his thighs. _Jesus_ those are some thighs, too, Lance thanks all the Greek gods (that he can’t have in him to remember the names of when he’s this horny) for Keith’s wonderfully sculpted legs. _Delicious_. He’d let his entire lower half go numb if it meant Keith straddled him for that long.

And then Keith looks up, sans pants and underwear, (dick out, obviously, which is quite the sight), and drags off his shirt by the base of his collar. Lance used to think that move seemed kinda douchey and extra, but c’mon… He’s so fucking biased right now. Especially under the weight of that stare, projected from grey, purple, whatever-the-fuck eyes that make his throat tighten and strike his body almost completely frozen because what if he blinks and it’s just _gone?_

What if he blinks and this twisted concept of heaven his mind has come to adore just vanishes? He _wants_ the devil on his shoulder, and all over his body and fogging up his mind and heart because the taste is so achingly _sweet_ he can’t be bothered that this is no angel. The image of Keith will disintegrate into little flakey bits of imagination if he doesn’t engulf himself in the moment now. Lance won’t have the chance to commit this to memory if he blinks, so he lays with rapt attention for the sake of remembering, and it’s as effective as desperately pasting paper on paper with a dried out glue stick, because there’s too many details that will surely fly away.

One side of Keith is bathed in the flickering glow of the laptop screen. The volume is turned down, and colors flicker through a common scheme that makes the slopes of Keith’s skin warm to the eyes and perhaps the touch.

On the other side, rays of sunlight slash through slits in the open blinds that bar Lance’s bedroom window and carve bright stripes across Keith’s eye, collarbone, pec, ribs, and the arm drenched in ink hanging at his side.

There are no halves to Keith despite the way he unknowingly sits in these conflicting themes. He’s a whole, valiant, aggressively loyal man as well as an intimidating force to reckon with, whether out of love or hate. He paid tribute to Shiro’s accident ending with a prosthetic by getting the sleeve, until it turned into a part of his own character that eventually made Lance high off lust rather than what the overbearing mark had originally intended to symbolize. He wonders if Keith, leaned back between his legs with disheveled hair that sports a broken crown of sunlight, thinks of Lance as much as he does his brother when he looks at that arm. He wants to be the devil on someone’s shoulder too.

His time to memorize this moment in purgatory comes to an end when Keith makes his next move. It’s second nature, somehow, for Keith to sweep himself down or move in any way that catches Lance’s lips against his own. It’s second nature for him to have the instincts of a lover even in this kind of affair, to twine their hands together through waves of heavy panting and a rhythm that rocks the world they’ve created in the barely-there crevice of space between them. And the way Lance realized he was completely fucked was because he started to tune into, and maybe even _favor_ , the action of their mouths: from husky words to encompassing kisses, over what’s _supposed_ to be pleasuring him down below. Just like now.

Keith’s taken them both in one hand now, stroking at an agonizingly slow pace that Lance can’t find it in himself to care for when Keith’s whispering sweet nothings to him, perhaps more empty than Lance would prefer, but it works.

“You knew what you were doing,” Keith says in one breath and Lance feels his face pinch under another wave of euphoria. “I like that about you. Always drive me insane— I can never get any rest, huh? _Fuck_ , Lance.”

Lance’s leg twitches, his knee hiking up and calf tensing and _no_ , he’ll never let Keith rest because that’s how he keeps him in his place. He has to skip ahead, keep this boy on his toes, even though the fascinated and attentive looks Keith gives him in bed also bleed into their relationship outside this kind of bliss. He thinks of being willingly embraced while they headed back home from the camping trip, how Keith didn’t hesitate to bring him close to the fabric of his sweatshirt and blanket the rest of the world around them, how Lance’s consciousness died away under the tune of a Pink Floyd song that will _always_ remind him of Keith now and it’s somehow something he just can’t get sick of.

“No,” Lance feigns a smug tone as he frantically scrambles away from those softer parts of his mind, though he knows it’s inevitable they’ll return. “ _You’re mine_ , Keith,” he says while staring off at the ceiling before shutting his eyes tight and letting another moan drive straight into Keith’s ear, just for good measure, just to secure the deal. He wants it to be true so fucking _badly_.

“Yeah,” Keith exhales and gives them both a long drag with his hand, then quickens the pace. Lance’s breath stutters when he inhales, like someone is playing with his airway the same way fingers would dance over the open holes of a flute. Figuratively, it’s from Keith dancing around in the special place he’s got in Lance’s heart. But in reality, Lance is just taken aback at Keith’s easy—

 _“Yeah,”_ he repeats into the crook of Lance’s neck. His nose digs into the latter’s throat, then the prodding sensation is replaced with his plush lips, and it seems like a subconscious apology for the brief discomfort.

Lance takes a whole three seconds to decide that if his life is gonna take a 180, now is probably the best time to take the risk. Well, maybe it’s not, but his muddled brain and tingly body is convincing him otherwise. So he blinks his eyes back open and stares down the expanse of Keith’s back (and inevitably, his ass) that adorns the same lighting from before, like a pair of mismatched wings. All of Keith’s toned muscle undulates smoothly with each tug and rock and shift, something Lance can’t keep his hands off of as his fingertips are busy pressing themselves into every curve and digging their blunt nails into skin. He reaches low, palms Keith’s ass because that in itself was and _still is_ a living daydream since they’ve been friends, or whatever form of friendship _this_ may be.

But fuck it now (even though he technically is already _fucking_ it- or _him_ ), because it’s not forever he’ll be drifting around cloud nine like this, and it’s not going to be something to enjoy with too many emotions pent up and potential stowed away. Potential… He’d like to think of it as something like that.

“You—“ Lance finds himself choking out just before another pleasant shock. “You wanna be?” He says a bit wobbly, but it can be masked as only simple sensitivity for the way Keith is hanging on and unlocking any and every kind of reaction. When Keith can’t see him, he’ll be damn sure he can at least hear Lance from extra effort. Looks like he’s getting more than that kind of blessing now…

Keith leans back slightly, just enough for Lance’s sight of his back to be overtaken by his face instead, close and almost entirely masked in shadow past the curtains of hair that swish along the sides. His lashes flutter low, and his mouth is barely agape while he grunts quietly and noses against Lance’s cheek. Then suddenly, as if reeling out of a trance, he pulls away and his brows twitch. “What?”

 _Fuck._ See, he shouldn’t have said anything— what the fuck was he thinking? Like this would end up the same way the movies do, where everything is just so obvious and entirely foolproof… Immediately he can feel his heartbeat double, and the erratic rise and fall of his chest is gradually falling out of line from his initial excuse of just getting worked up from sex.

“Nothing!” He says hurriedly but Keith’s grip is already faltering and— “Nononono don’t stop—“

“Lance—“

“ _God_ , please don’t make this awkward,” he begs in a hushed voice, like a prayer to himself as though the clearly unamused Keith hovering over him wouldn’t hear. Newsflash, he can, and Lance should’ve waited for both of them to get off at least so he could take the walk of shame and not the walk of sheer _embarrassment_.

“Lance, _you’re_ making this awkward,” Keith says in an easy statement, but his wrist is still kinda flicking so at least that’s going for them, eh? “Did you— Were you asking me if I wanted to…” He trails, and Lance prays, _prays_ (this time internally, thank you very much) that there’s a hopeful lilt to Keith’s inquiry. Because he can only busy himself with what’s being said when his eyes are pointedly directed away from… this, and oh, would you look at that? The lady in the show is getting married. Good for her! She won’t have to deal with Lance’s kind of screw up anytime s—

 _“Lance,”_ Keith repeats and thumbs over Lance’s tip just enough to startle him again. _Geez_ , this would be easier to answer if his dick wasn’t two seconds away from turning into a firecracker but fine, whatever. Guess he’ll have to confront his problems like a normal person, _eugh_.

He tries to keep his hands steady along Keith’s sides, but his instincts win over and before he knows it, his palms press over the other’s back with an air of doubt. _“What if?”_ he thinks again while holding Keith in place like this. He can’t tell if that’s his brain pushing him into this or dragging him out, but if he’s gonna trip over a couple steps, may as well be the whole staircase, right? Okay, bit too negative there, Lance.

“I asked… if you wanted to be” —he glances over to Keith, but it’s too much and instead the laptop screen is looking mighty fine again— “-be my- be mine… Like…” Like what? He’s having another peanut brain moment. Now where’s the nearest exit— would the window or the door be faster? Hold on, this is _his_ apartment—

Keith does it again, digs his thumb into that sensitive point and noses along Lance’s cheek like it’s nothing. “And what do you think I’d say?” he asks with his mouth so close to Lance’s that their lips brush off every other word.

“Probably something not ideal if my dick wasn’t in your hand right now,” Lance says, because ruining the moment himself is far easier than letting it run it’s natural, disastrous course.

Keith snorts, and Lance can hear the laughter in his tone when he says: “Should I let go of it or keep holding on when I say yes?”

_When I say yes_

_Say yes_

_Yes_

_“You do you, buddy,”_ Lance can only shrill through a tight throat because instead of the 180 he expected, this is like his mama flipping tortillas on the stove with her bare hands several times in a row before smacking it down on a plate off to the side. You see, Lance is the plate. Then being friends with Keith, and fucking him once, and then several more times, and then confessing his feelings in the middle of said fucking, and then them being reciprocated— that’s a lot of tortillas.

“I’m saying yes now, Lance,” Keith says. And it looks like he chose to keep holding on since Lance hasn’t had any chance at going soft yet, at least down there. “Hey,” —he bumps their foreheads together and Lance finally looks over— “I wanna be yours.” He mutters with a gaze overflowing with infatuation, and Lance is glad the answer’s been said outright because otherwise he’d be too dense to pick up the hint. Just like all the other ones, apparently.

So while his mind is definitely playing that one Arctic Monkeys song that he’ll probably be listening to on repeat later til his ears bleed, he double checks, does a little one-two, one-two, back and forth between Keith’s eyes before finally nodding a little dumbly. It’s a complete opposite to the internal party he’s having right now, as chaotic as Rachel’s quinceañera had been. There’s a silent _“Okay”_ interpreted there somewhere, going by the cute quirk of Keith’s mouth, and Lance takes it upon himself to finally cut to the chase.

He’s still not quite comprehending it all. Even as their mouths lock together and his back arches with every jerk Keith gives. Even when he instinctively and brokenly whispers _“Baby”_ as Keith twists in just the right way and nips at his collarbone. Even when a hickey’s sucked determinedly into the space behind his jaw and he hears _“You’re so fucking perfect”_ because Keith is more than familiar with his praise kink and it never fails to throw him over the edge.

Just like now. “ _Fuck!_ Keith—“ he breaks off in a moan that rattles through his chest.

“Look at me,” Keith murmurs and peels Lance’s hand off his eyes, he wasn’t even aware they’d been there before even under the more than apparent pressure it was giving.

He blinks away the ache and catches Keith watching him like _that_ again; he’s run out of words to describe that look, and it’s just become something that makes him clutch tighter and drag back any kiss sent his way, so much so each one ends with a loud smack. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“You gonna” —Keith takes a deep breath and his chest expands— “-gonna cum?” His hair jostles from their set rhythm.

Lance folds his own lips in and his throat bares while air puffs from his flared nostrils with the force of a pent up dragon. Then his neck cranes back into place, and it’s not exactly great timing for his attitude to get the best of him since Keith has readily dove into a new turn in their relationship— but it tumbles out his mouth anyway. “I dunno, like I got a timer for this or something? It happens when it—

_Ohhh,_ y-yeah _hahh,”_ he says and can’t bother to spare a moment thinking of how unattractive that sound probably was since that _deep_ part of his core is unfurling with a euphoric burst, making his legs quake and hips tense while the most sensitive part of him clenches in until he can’t hold back, and soon enough he feels the small dots of skin up his abdomen grow wet under spattered release. _Gross,_ but with Keith hunched over him in a following state, tugging himself to completion and Lance to overstimulation, its heavy enough distraction from that initial afterthought.

Welp, took a little more than two seconds for that firecracker moment, but it was worth it, right? _Alright, he’ll shut up now._

Keith’s climax face is a memory that’s been seared into Lance’s head since he’d originally witnessed it. His thick brows draw up to form a desperate peak in the middle, the apples of his cheeks lift until his wide eyes are shut tight and all that can be seen are the lines of his long, thick lashes. His mouth forms a weak O shape that bares his bottom set of teeth, distinctly pointed and Lance would know from the dark splotches he’s gotten under their determined attention.

Honestly, sometimes Lance can’t quite bear the building tension of intimacy, and his nervously joking instincts get very much tempted to spew things like _“Ya ready to rock n roll?”_ when he’s got Keith on the counter and that pair of firm legs caged around his waist. Or a weak _“Blast off”_ after already, ya know, blasting off.

He resists from the rocket ship joke though, and okay, _any jokes_ for the moment and instead opts for kissing up Keith’s (definitely sweaty) neck while the man balances on wobbly arms and legs until the end of his high that adds to the inevitable grossness across their skin.

Keith leans back and sweeps long fingers from his dry hand through his dark bangs to likely push the uncomfortable heat from them away, then wipes the other hand on a nearby towel. Lance is totally a goner for the look, like, post sex of course, but all around he’s a sucker for that swooped back hair that his friend, (more than friend now, _oh god_ ), only gives into when Lance toes the line of their once platonic streak in favor of wedging himself into that closeness. Those sessions were way too personal for Lance to _not_ replay 80 times just like the tortilla flips he’d thought of earlier. Okay, is he hungry or something?

“Whatever punchline you’ve got,” Keith rolls his shoulders and takes to stroking his hands down Lance’s thighs, “just hit me with it already.”

“The fiancé was cheating on her,” Lance says instead with a schooled expression.

Keith’s nose scrunches. “Huh?”

Lance lazily points to the screen. “You missed it,” he says and nods over in that very direction just to get the point across. A man, about mid 30’s with a five o’clock shadow and shaggy hair, is hurriedly fixing his rumpled button up shirt with shaky fingers as he walks about what seems to be a hotel room. “He slept with some chick at the bachelor party.”

The man, Gerardo or something like that, snaps his attention to somewhere past the camera after a small subtitle blinks onto the dim screen reading _“*knocking*”_ , and right when he turns the handle and swings it open to reveal a furious looking red-haired woman, the image shuts off under Keith’s abrupt move in smacking his laptop shut.

“Wait—!”

“I want you to be my boyfriend,” Keith says bluntly in a hoarse voice. Lance feels his neck pop under the same force Gerardo must’ve felt when he heard that knock. Keith’s eyes hold just a tinge of amusement past his faint scowl. “I was going to ask you tonight. Pull out all the stops, deal with the face mask stuff, take you out— _no_ not with a gun,” he quickly catches on when Lance is ready to intervene. “And here you are watching _Netflix_ while we’re having real sex— don’t look at me like that, Lance—“

But Lance really can’t help the way he turns to putty even more so under the wave of afterglow. His lips are tugging up at the corners once he defeatedly strays from suppressing his true reaction because Keith had _plans?_ Keith had literal plans and here Lance was, utterly convinced he himself was gonna fuck this up somehow, and hopefully this Netflix stunt hasn’t done just that. Going by Keith’s matching battle against a creeping smile, there aren’t any obvious reasons to worry, although Lance’s heart thrums on just the same.

“You want this?” Keith challenges as he gestures between them both.

Lance has half a mind to sit up at attention, and hopefully a _whole_ mind to show his honest commitment when he drapes his arms over Keith’s shoulders. “Yeahhh,” he answers.

Whatever possible dig Keith was planning to throw back, probably something along the lines of _“Then act like it”_ is swapped for a reverent stare and gentle “Good, I have too.”

“You have a crush on me, Kogane?” Lance noses at him, and he’s totally in for zoning out sometime later to re-analyze all their lingering, grey-area moments.

Keith holds fast to his hips, gives him a smooth peck, and answers “For a while now.”

Lance can’t help it. “You think of me?” he angles his head to whisper right against the edges of Keith’s mouth the way Keith had done before. “With this…” The sleeve of hypnotizing patterns along the corner of Keith’s pec and down that thick, toned arm where Lance follows the slopes of muscle under his pressing palm.

“All the time.”

Lance is absolutely _basking_ in this. He reaches his hand back to take one of Keith’s from the small of his back, then presses it over his own expanse of a more intricate tattoo. The ink aligns, somehow colliding together at the bridge from Keith’s wrist to his own hip until it crosses over to another side.

He looks up, meeting Keith’s gaze, and sends a silent _“And I do for you”_ in a finally open and unrestrained kiss against Keith’s welcoming lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Their tattoos are totally up to interpretation so have fun w that cause I couldn’t make up my mind
> 
> Forgive me for this lowkey being unrealistic w out mentioning any kind of lube I— 💀 Anyway, respect to any nsfw writers out there since I tend to stay in my lane with this stuff.
> 
> Drop a comment/kudos, I’m a whore for some feedback!!

**Author's Note:**

> exclusive fics on [my instagram](https://instagram.com/arcadevia?igshid=1bqu2rmbht9gq)


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